


Entitled

by nately



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, Angst, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Major Character Injury, Military Homophobia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:12:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6768370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nately/pseuds/nately
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the military starts to recieve threats from a mysterious group in Oregon, Warren's duty is to coax information out of a prime suspect...who is more than happy to make Warren's life miserable.</p><p>He's sure he's not paid enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Threats With Hidden Meanings and Eyebags"

_“If you choose not to step in on the fight with Nathan, we start to see something a little different, a darker side of Warren. It's very violent and gets a bit out of control. It shows us that, even if we're good characters, we all have a side of us that can go out of control._

_Everyone has shades of grey…_

_...bits of darkness.”_

_~Michel Koch_

\----

**Military Headquarters**

**1145**

\----

The only sound that echos in the suffocating room is the constant scratching of ink pen against paper and the occasional cough or sneeze. Sometimes, Warren doesn't mind the interfering noises, but today everyone is on edge, waiting for word or even an order from their commanding officer. The sounds aren't loud, but they're mind numbingly irritating.

And it seems like Warren isn't the only one who's on his toes when Chloe clears her throat, gaining his and Maxine’s attention.

“Anything?” The blue haired girl whispers, taping her pen in impatience. Warren doesn't blame her, and is as through with his daily work grind when there is something much more important going on outside the office.

Maxine sighs and twists the radio's knobs, gripping the set of headphones on her hand a bit tighter as if the hard grasp can somehow give her a new lead. After a small moment, she grunts in frustration and yanks the headphones off her head. “Nothing. Not a call, no reports. Just nothing.”

Warren leans on his desk and with his sore ink covered hands to rub the strain from his face. To say it's a long day would be the understatement of the year. The team has been in Headquarters ever since 0800 this morning, signing release papers of very dangerous things happening in Oregon. From the looks of the documents, Warren is sure there's going to be something akin to a dispute. Maybe even a resistance. His commanding officer hasn't report back in since last week, leaving her subordinates lost on what to do and frustrated for being kept in the dark. They were going nowhere, just signing documents, not knowing if they had to or not, and which ones are important or just busy work.

But he isn't surprised. Colonel Grant rarely sends her men to the field with her. She has faith in them...but she's too worried to bring her team out for the away-from-desk work. Yes, she's required sometimes to tag her team for missions, but for every chance she gets to leave them behind for the paperwork, she'll take it.

Warren isn't too sure if he appreciates the sentiment or absolutely despises it.

Speak if the devil, the doors in the office swing open without a knock, and in comes their commanding officer Colonel Grant along with two lower rank officers Warren doesn't recognize.

But as protocol, the whole team stands and salutes their boss, and she promptly nod at the greeting.

“At ease, soldiers,” Grant says, and everyone takes their seats in exhaustion. Grant walks forward to stand in the middle of the room, the two other male officers following suit respectively. Warren tries to wrack his brain, but he just can't recall their names. They were well built and tall, but just about everyone is tall and bigger than Warren. His role in the military is heavily set on Intelligence, even though he doesn't belong in the faction. He's the brains of his team, but that doesn't mean his co-workers are complete idiots.

“I understand you all are eager to be updated on current events regarding the uprising in Oregon,” She starts, and everyone is sitting on the edge of their chairs. “New developments have come to light, and I will need to have you all there. I will explain on the way what's happening and your individual responsibilities.”

And with that, the woman scans around the room. “First lieutenant Maxine Caulfield,” Max stands and salutes, and Warren wonders idly if her arm hurts from saluting so fast and abruptly. “Lieutenant Warren Graham. Second Lieutenant Chloe Price,” the two officers stand as well, Price a bit more lazier than Graham. Although Price's constant insubordination could get her court marshaled, Grant excuses her. Everyone knows she doesn't mean to be that way. It's just her own little midlife crisis. Teenage habits die hard, Warren supposes.

“Lieutenant Colonel Kate Marsh and Lieutenant Colonel Brooke Scott. I want you all to come with me to Arcadia Bay, Oregon for further instruction,” Finally, the woman motions to give attention to the two male officers behind her. “This is Second Lieutenant Zachary Riggins and Second Lieutenant Logan Robertson. These two are from Brigadier General David Madsen's faction, but they will be joining us for the time being until further notice. The carpool is waiting outside, so please take your time sparingly to gather your things. Commence.” And with that, the large woman turns about-face and leaves the room with the two officers.

As soon as the doors close, the team can finally breathe and let their aching hands down. The five person group hurriedly grabs any important documents in excitement to actually be doing something and stuffs them neatly in a single carrier bag, in which Brooke draws the short straw and has to carry to the car.

They pile in the military van and wait silently as Grant takes her place in the passenger seat and the scruffy bearded driver backs out of HQ, away from the boring paperwork that Warren is sure would've killed him somehow.

“As you may have already heard, for the past four months there has been direct threats from a mysterious group in Arcadia Bay, Oregon. It sent confusing alarms as to their core motive, details on identity and reasons why, so you've all unfortunately had to slave on mounds of paperwork for quite some time,” Grant's face melts from a stern mask to a gentle smile, her team being the only ones who are ever graced with her smiles. “I apologize for not updating you all. But there were countless false leads and surprise attacks that I simply couldn't find the time to report other than his Excellency."

“Excuse me interrupting, but, ‘surprise attacks’?” Caulfield asks, the worry evident in her voice.

“I'm afraid so. Even before the threats started, there has been suspicious missing reports of young women aged between 12 and 30 mysteriously disappearing and coming back after a few days, not recalling what's happen to them nor who kidnapped them. Every time we think we've got a hold on the situation, another girl goes missing, but comes back. It's a strange group, that threatens for odd requests for odd expenses. For example,” She reaches in her own bag and shuffles through a stack of papers, and Warren uses the time to observe how dark the bags under his commanding officer's eyes are. She must be more worn out than they are, which makes him feel a bit silly for even being frustrated with the simple job of signing papers, when the woman in front of him who pushes him to do his best and succeed in his line of work has to deal with nonsensical but potentially dangerous threats.

“For example, one letter sent to HQ states, ‘One woman for one night. In return, evidence.'"

Everyone's faces distort in confusion. One woman for one night? From the current information, its clear the group wants another female. But for what? And why ask for it when they've clearly been doing it beforehand with no problem? Or is there some hidden meaning that Warren isn't getting? And in return, evidence? Like, evidence against the military or against them? It sounds stupid, that all they have to give is a female for less than twelve hours so they can receive evidence to HELP bring them down. But really, the message is too vague. Too vague but all too clear.

Grant frowns when she observes the collective confusion on her team's face, as if she was hoping by some miracle, one of them knew how to decode the strange letter. “They're all as cryptic and all convey the same meaning...whatever that meaning is.”

“We're here, ma’am.” The scruffy drivers appearance matches his raspy monotone voice.

Warren looks around to see the dorms. The tall but rather lanky building still standing tall with prideful paint chips tearing down. It's an ugly beige color, but it shelters everyone nicely. So he can't complain.

“I want you all to pack up. We are transferring to Oregon's Headquarters for as long as we need to in order to complete the mission. Don't worry about plane expenses nor not being able to pack much. The military is going to fund everything. At 0100 we're catching the first plane to Oregon. Be ready in a timely manner. Dismissed.”

Without much else to say, the five officers salute and step out the vehicle, and make their way to the dorms as the car drives off, planning to return by the hour.

Warren catches up with his team and starts to listen to their conversation.

“...right? I couldn't for the life of me figure out why they would promise to _help_ us.” Brooke exclaims, shaking her head. “And I thought for a second they were smart or super dangerous.”

“Maybe they are. And know exactly what their doing,” Kate's soft voice speaks up, and makes Warren question for the hundredth time how such a timid and nice girl got in the military. “They could be toying with us. Distracting us for something.”

Chloe huffs and shrugs. By this time, the group are in the hallways, not ready yet to part ways. “Whatever they're doing, I'm not too keen on going back.”

“'Back'?” Warren echos curiously. But Chloe just grunts and frowns. Max smiles softly at Warren and speaks for her close friend and co-worker.

“Chloe's from Arcadia Bay.”

“Wow. Aren't you too, Max?”

Max shakes her head. “No. Seattle.”

Warren smiles and eyes his room door: 109.

“Funny. I'm from Arcadia Bay too.” Warren says, making his way to his door, and the others do the same.

Brooke giggles. “Small world.” She whispers as she disappears in her own room.

Warren locks eyes with Chloe, who's walking into her respective room. “I can't wait to get there.”

"I bet nothing's change in that stupid town. It fucking blows.” Chloe murmurs.

Warren can't help but laugh at the too true statement.


	2. "Coming Home and Diner Bacon"

Warren cranes his neck to the side, groaning when his neck gave an audible pop.

Max wince. She always did hate his bone popping. “Y'know, one of these days you're gonna snap your neck, Warren.”

"Unfair. You bit your nails.” Warren smiles, twisting his body for more joint stretching. He needs this, a good stretch--they've been on the plane for a whole day just sitting. It was the five star department, but Warren doesn't like sitting in one place for too long. At least without a quick stretch. He's a patient guy, nonetheless. But that aside, Warren's considering going to a spa for a more professional massage for his poor back. “It's cute, though.” Warren adds.

Max just smirks sheepishly and shrugs.

But Warren doesn't take it to heart. He knows he doesn't have a chance with her. It isn't exactly encouraged in the military to start relationships with your fellow man that crosses the friendship border. Warren met Max during boot camp, and somehow is lucky enough to end up working with her. But Warren knows better. Max doesn't like him the way he likes her. Besides, she's more familiar with Chloe. And Warren isn't a poor sport, so he keeps their relationship on the down low, a secret of sorts. He knows she values his discretion. It's the least (and the most) he could do.

They ride in the carpool in silence, Warren looking out the window as the blur of a forest passes by. He remembers this from his youth, when his dad would take him here during the summer and fall for fishing. _‘Gotta get ‘em when they bite’_ his old man would say in the most country voice he could manage. Warren doesn't really care for fishing, or really anything outdoorsy. He'd rather stay indoors with a good movie and a bowl of popcorn with dimmed or complete darkness. He's a simple man with simple tastes.

But nonetheless, Warren hopes his family is alright. They communicate over the phone sometimes, but Warren can't remember the last time he visited his homeland. No one can really blame him; vacation days are hard to come by. And Warren is somewhat a diligent worker. And the military milks that for everything it's worth. In exchange, a very good pay. _Give and take,_ Warren bitterly thinks.

As train tracks and small buildings come into view, his stomach starts to churn in both excitement and anxiousness. As soon as his feet touch the ground, he'll have the rest of the day to move back in with his family and spend time with them until the next morning, when he'll have to report to a specific area perpendicular to the forest his commanding officer told him about.

He lightly wonders if the Two Whales Diner is still up and running. And if they still serve double cheese and meat burgers with jumbo chili fries. His mouth waters at the thought of eating the greasy meal, his favorite since the middle school ages.

The car slows to a stop in front of a dainty regular size blue and white house, a cross between a cottage and a Victorian home. This must be where Max intends to stay. She turns to Warren and nods her departure and exits the car, leaving Warren with himself and the driver.

Warren gives said driver his parents address and the glasses wearing man pulls out of the driveway and makes his way north. Warren always wanted to live near the gorgeous Arcadia seaside beach, but he's grateful for the location of his home--not to far from civilization but near the forestry that landmarks Arcadia Bay.

His home, a slightly dull brown and grey little home, still looks the same. As he thanks the driver and steps out, the cool breeze push lightly against Warren's dark grey sweater and faded blue jeans, making him wish he'd brought a heavy jacket. He breathes in, taking in the familiar pine and sea water scent, bringing back pleasant memories. The front door opens to reveal his much older parents. Grey hair dominate their brown and blonde locks and their faces adorn with more wrinkles than Warren remembers, but they are still his parents.

“Warren!” His mother exclaims, practically throwing herself on the brunette in an embrace. He returns it, looking up to his smiling father, and Warren can't help but smile back.

_He's home._

\----

The blinding natural light shining directly in Warren's face should annoy him. But the birds chirping and the fall breeze drafting in his room only reminds him of where he is.

He sits up and takes a tired look around his old room. It really hasn't changed since then, and it looks exactly how he left it. His obsession with all things sci-fi is clear as he observe his movie collection, posters of his all time favorite movies, and his little trinkets and collectables displayed on his desk and wall shelves. The solar system hangs from his ceiling, all in order and labeled accordingly.

And to think, after he passed the state exam for the military at age seventeen he still harbors his obsession after seven years...jeez... _seven years_. Warren can't but feel old.

Warren yawns and leaves his man cave to walk downstairs, relishing how the steps haven't lost their squeaky noise, and he follows the aroma of bacon and eggs.

But when he reaches the kitchen, he and his mother both know he's not eating here. As much as he loves his mother's cooking, Warren wants to eat at Two Whales. It's where a lot of his childhood rests, pulling out change from his grass covered jeans to pay for a small meal and eat like he never ate before.

It isn't a long walk, but it feels like it. It's refreshing. He stayed inside all day catching up with his parents until the wee hours of the night. But now he gets to go out, eat at his old favorite hotspot and report in for duty. And not in an office, but an actual field work job. He can't possible wait.

Two Whale's seen better days, the bright blue paint now a bit dull and the red is chipped and greyed, but it looks good. Warren walks in and the usual chime and coffee scent brings a smile to Warren's face.

When he was younger, it was difficult finding an empty seat, but the people there knew Warren, and always somehow save him a booth in the back. But now, there's barely five people. A shady guy to Warren's left and a woman at the spin around, as well as a faint sound of water running in the bathrooms. Warren makes his way to the back booth to the right and sits in his usual spot, tracing his rough finger over his childish indents on the table. It was a simple little science problem from high school, when he was easily distracted and mistakenly carved his thoughts on the table. He almost cried when he was caught, but now he almost laugh at his childish antics.

Warren almost doesn't hear the click clack of high heels approach him until a smooth but older woman's voice interrupts his reminiscent thoughts.

“What would you like to eat?”

Warren looks up to see a blonde curvy woman who's at least in her thirties. Her hair pinned up with a blue barrette in a nice looking bun and a half apron over her collar and skirt outfit. She means business...as much as a stern looking woman with a coffee pot can, at least.

Warren feels a bit silly for not taking the time to look at the menu, but he takes the plunge. “Coffee, and I'd like the Belgian waffle and all the bacon you have.”

The woman raises her eyebrow, and Warren almost believes they don't serve it anymore, when the blonde starts chuckling.

“You from here?” She asks, stepping a bit back to grab a cup and returning to pour it, the steam and dark liquid seeping out the pot.

“Yeah, I grew up here. But I haven't been back for seven years.”

The woman whistles at the hefty amount of time. “Figures. I wondered why I didn't recognize your face.” She lifts the pot and and gives Warren a warm smile. “Joyce.”

Joyce. He remembers the name. Chloe mentioned her, and Max said her name a few times. But who was she again?

Warren returns the smile. “Warren.”

Joyce salutes with a smile and retreats to the back of the diner and Warren laughs. He's use to people mocking him when he wears his military clothes in public. But Joyce isn't rude with her salute. And that's what makes her okay in Warren's book.

Warren almost misses the small chime of the door opening under the sizzling sounds of delicious bacon cooking. He watches a blond boy walk in...well, more like shuffle in. His demeanor and walk cycle is a bit fast and odd, like he's twitching but trying to get somewhere quick. The guy rubs the back of his neck with a total disregard of his surroundings and makes a beeline for the bathroom. Warren isn't a worry wart, but his cop senses are swirling, an urge to question the male surfacing. But there's no reason to interrupt a random civilian just because he's acting strange. And besides, Warren needs to stay focused on the time. He only has about a half an hour before he has to meet up with his team and start whatever the Colonel has in store for them.

The boy stops right at the door, pauses, finally takes a look around the place, and his eyes lock onto Warren's. They're an intimidating icy blue, seemingly trying to dominate Warren's own brown irises. But as quick as lightening, those hard blue eyes shrink in size, silent horror overtaking his features. The boy snaps to look at the bathroom door, gives one last lingering glance at Warren, and quickly leaves the diner as fast as he came in.

Warren waits until the door closes and moves to get up and follow the suspicious character, but a body in his peripheral vision stops him and the food that sits in front of him makes him sit back down.

“Anything else, Warren?” Joyce asks, placing her hand on her hip.

Oh Lord this looks delicious. The waffles stacked on each other, covered in an assortment of small fruit beside a handful of sizzling bacon. All cooked thoroughly and just perfect. Warren almost forgets about the blond guy from a few seconds ago.

Almost.

“Yeah, uh, thank you. But do you know anything about the guy who was just here?” Warren finally tears his eyes away from the food.

Joyce shifts the weight from her left hip to her right. “I think I missed him, sorry.”

Figures. She was busy making this god-like plate of a meal. But Warren doesn't give up, and puts his hunger aside. “It was a skinny, short guy. Blond short hair and greys blue eyes...wearing a red jacket?”

Joyce's eyes widen a bit, but it quickly just turns into a tired look. “Nathan. What about him?”

Warren is slightly confused at the sudden shift in tone and the small information. But he doesn't press her. The Nathan guy probably felt uneasy about being in the same vicinity as someone in the police force. Warren kinda wishes he's wearing normal civilian clothes, but he has to report for duty right after breakfast, so he has his dark blue with yellow tones of a uniform on, and Warren has to admit, it does look a little intimidating. And with everything heating up in this small town probably has everyone on edge.

But Warren just can't shake something off of him. He won't go hunting for the blond, but if they oh so happen to run into each other, the jittery male is in for a serious questioning. Especially with the uprising happened here, Warren has a feeling ‘Nathan’ is associated somehow.

But it's useless to sit here thinking about things that might not even be true nor connected. Especially since the breakfast in front of him is waiting, daunting and begging to be eaten.

And Warren is more than happy to oblige.

\----

“Lieutenant Warren Graham reporting for duty.” Warren salutes.

“At ease Graham. Follow me.” Grant dismisses, motioning for Warren to do just that. As they walk through the mass of officers and secured off sections of tape, Warren sees himself heading toward a small little home painted in a gaudy burgundy. The two walk up the three rickety steps and enter the home, the inside as worn down as the outside. It's close to the stereotypical ‘poor family’ home, complete with broken chairs, cracks on the pale yellow walls, a scratchy looking rug, a small excuse for a TV set and a roughly patched up couch that has seen better days.

“This is the Glover residence. Home to Gwen Glover and Alex Glover--mother and daughter,” The Colonel suddenly pauses, and her crestfallen face explains enough to Warren.

“Alex is missing.” Warren finishes his bosses words, his gut feeling a bit funny. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten so much grease, because already he's feeling queasy and uncomfortable. But he's strong. So Warren stomachs it.

“Alex ‘was’ missing,” Grant corrects, walking again in a strong stride to the couch and pointing towards the floor right next to the furniture. “Marsh was here a bit earlier and pointed out that there are odd marks near the couch. After officers from NY HQ reported seeing similar marks, it seems that at some point there was a struggle in both crime scenes. As to why? We don't know. The victims don't remember relocating from their home. All they can recall is going to sleep, and waking up feeling different. As if someone is watching them or they wasn't alone. But as to why only two of the countless victims homes contain this evidence is beyond me.”

Right. And was this all intentional or a mistake on the perpetrators part?

Grant sighs and her eyebrows furrow. “Either they're starting to get careless or they're leading us on.”

Hopefully it's the former of the two, Warren can hear the unspoken words loud and clear.

“Graham, you know as standard procedure I serve as the field commander.”

Warren gives a sharp nod. Where is she going with this? Grant steps up to Warren, the two being almost the same height if Warren's body decides to grow two inches. But the hard look his commander shoots him makes Warren feel much smaller. He makes the extra effort not to flinch or move away.

“If it's not too much to ask, I would like you to take over as field commander.”

 _Field commander_...the phrase ringing in Warren's head and he's not fully understanding it. Grant wants Warren to basically take over the investigation. Warren wonders if Colonels can even do that, handing over power to those under them. But then again, getting Warren approved for the new line of duty wouldn't be too hard. He's not a boastful guy, but he has to admit he's really good at his job for his age, and harbors all the qualities any employer wants in an employee.

But Warren as a field commander? The incredible load of responsibility sends cold shivers up his spine, and he's glad it's not visible. He even salutes and schools his face to prevent any unnessary emotion.

“I'm pleased to be betrothed, ma'am.” He hopes his choice of words doesn't sound too weird.

But it seems like it works, as the older woman's face slowly lightens up. “Good. I'm glad I can count on you.”

And she leaves him in the house alone for him to wallow in his own thoughts. Field commander. Field fucking commander. Yes, this will definitely look good on his record, but Warren isn't one for promotions. The fact that he's trusted enough to do work outside his position is both amazing and frightening. He's always looked up to Grant, and now he gets to do her job.

Now that he thinks about it, what will she be doing? Or is she going to still be giving them orders? Or maybe Warren's just going to be something akin to a side kick? Either way, uber cool.

Warren strolls slowly and aimlessly around the home, letting his thoughts drift to the suspicious guy in the diner. Really, the more he thinks about the guys behavior, the more he's certain the blond is guilty of something. Maybe he's not directly responsible for the uprising and just know something they don't? The need to question him swells, but it does nothing to contribute to Warren's current situation. He'll have to wait until he gets to see the man...if he ever does.

Let's see...how will Warren even start his investigation though? Should he update himself on the facts and evidence or should he start barking orders? Both need to be done regardless. But Warren is more of a quiet observant guy than a boss, so he'll just report in Oregon HQ and get himself familiar with the case. And maybe even do a little of investigation.

On that note, he should probably tag along Kate, since she works directly for Intelligence in his team. Yeah, Brooke is also in Intelligence, but she fancies Warren…a bit too much. He knows she has a crush on him for a while now, ever since they met on the job. But he's not interested. Simple.

Warren snorts as he makes his way out the shabby home to join his team outside. He's friendzoning Brooke just like how Max is friendzoning him. How ironic indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small glimpse of Nathan. Yay? >_>
> 
> Also, sorry I had to cut this short. The next part is just so long, I didn't want to squish it right at the end. At least the next chapter is planned to be updated before Wednesday. So party maybe?
> 
> I'm sorry. I'm just so sleepy ;A;

**Author's Note:**

> I know, this story is hella strange. But bear with my lack of military procedure...knowledge...thing. :^(
> 
> Since Warren, in canon, is quiet young to be attending Blackwell, he's about 23 or 24. Take your pick. And Nathan's the same age (18).
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading :^)


End file.
